


Sweet Disposition

by paperwhite



Series: Some Little Infamy [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crowley doesn't like being tied up as much as he used to, F/M, Grumpy!Crowley, Officially over his sh!@
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1290691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperwhite/pseuds/paperwhite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Supernatural Imagine </p>
<p>http://dirtysupernaturalimagines.tumblr.com/post/79003634731/source</p>
<p>"Imagine teasing Crowley until he cums in his pants"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Disposition

The abandoned building was dank and smelled of holy water, blood, and cold stone. In the center of a devil’s trap sat Crowley, chained to a chair. The entire week your cell phone had been hot in your pocket, voicemails queued up; each from your contacts concerned at Crowley’s falling off the grid. You had not been concerned, at least you hadn’t until your own summoning had not been answered. 

Contacting the Winchesters had been easy enough, and since there was always some sort of diabolical terror at work in your city that they could clean up. Making all of the usual pleas for assistance, and introducing them to the curiously afflicted gentleman they needed to help, you made your plans. You had waited until they left, then with a few clever tricks, slipped onto the holy ground. Curious as to what could have led the trail to Crowley here, your eyebrows almost disappeared into your hairline to see the familiar silhouette in a chair.

Ascertaining that the area was empty, you murmured Crowley’s name lowly. You kept to the shadows, alert to any threats lurking. If time had proven anything, it was that whenever you thought it was safe to relax, that was when everything went to not-so-proverbial hell. A turn of his head, and an unmistakable sigh of relief came from him. “Took you so long to figure out something was wrong?” he spat.

You huff an impatient reply, dropping your bag and stalking towards him “All apologies. I wasn’t aware I was your personal assistant. How am I supposed to know when you get yourself into these messes?” You take a critical look at the chains binding him. Seems like the hunters were getting craftier with their tools. “I need supplies before I break these.”

Crowley shook his head. “I didn’t get you here to free me. This is a game that’s going to go on longer than anyone suspects. I need you to go shopping for me.”

You look at him with incredulity. “I just drove three hundred and seventy miles because you need a snack from the Seven-Eleven?”

A low-warning growl from Crowley sends a shiver down your spine. “Things are in motion that you cannot possibly understand. You do what you’re told. Whenever you’re told to do it.” His words were flung at you as if they were shot from the barrel of a rifle. And in that instant, every bit of frustration and ambition and desire wrapped themselves around your tongue until you could taste the plan forming. Giving Crowley a head tilt, you acceded. “Fine. I go shopping for you.” Running a fingertip along the length of chain binding him to his chair, wincing at the flux of magic in the air. Glancing again to the door, then down at Crowley bound to the chair. A few days worth of stubble was collected on his jaw line. Eyes were tired, but not broken. Favoring his right side, blows had come from the left. He’d been in worse shape, but your pride bristled at the thought of anyone deciding that this was how problems were resolved. 

You trail a finger up to his earlobe, giving it a tweak. Crowley’s eyes track your hand, wincing as your fingertip moves from ear and across a cut on his cheek. Smearing the blood, you trail your fingertip up and over his cheekbone, smoothing his eyebrow. Leaning in close, you kiss the scratchy, stubbled skin where jaw meets neck, and whisper in his ear, “You’re a pretty demanding boss, considering your…position.” 

You glance down at his body, and back up in time to see his eyes flash in anger.

“I’m still the King, princess. Don’t forget it.”

“How could I forget? What with all of the helplessness you’re currently exhibiting.” You smile, a saccharine parody on your face, as your hands rub the collar of his shirt between your fingers. Letting your hands fall to his check, over the energy of the bonds that sends a surge of power through your limbs. Rubbing the muscles on his chest, you take your time exploring; hands constantly moving in circles over him. 

Enjoying the feel of his warm skin through the soft fabric of his shirt.

“What are you doing,” he questions. “What are you looking for?”

You can only grin at him in reply, as your hands move farther down his body. His knee is between your thighs, and with a snap of your hips that have you rubbing against his leg, suddenly everything clicks into place for Crowley. He opens in his mouth into a soft sigh, a rumble of approval chasing his tongue as it flicks out towards you. You are happy to oblige, licking at his lips, teasing the tip of his tongue with yours before retreating, tracing a path down his neck, kissing at the salty skin. Circling yourself against his thigh, he raises his knee slightly, better to give you resistance and to force to you lean in against him.  
Crowley’s body is straining against the bonds, hands balled into fists, unable to touch. You stand up, so close to him that your breasts trail along his arm. He nuzzles your breasts, sinking between them, you cradle his head in your hands, letting him play for a moment. Then, with a tug of his earlobes, you sink back down onto his thigh, fingers teasing the now scorching skin on his neck. You place a kiss on that spot just above the jugular. 

Appeased as you hear a blissed moan humming in his throat. Setting to work, you begin to kiss and suck, making sure that he’ll have more than the marks you found him with by the time you leave. You can feel him trembling beneath you, tongue pressing on the swollen flesh and Crowley lets out a long breath, practically purring. Letting a roving hand fall from his shoulder, over his chest and belly, and gently caressing his cock through his pants. At the feel of your hand, Crowley’s groin thrusts forward, trying to get more friction. Ghosting your hand over him once more, you move it to his upper thigh, only inches from where you know he wants it. But you rub there instead, on the flesh guaranteed to excite but not satisfy. 

His mouth reaches for yours again, begging for a kiss. Your lips meet his, but you refuse to deepen it the way you’d both like. Instead, you consistently pull back, his frustration mounting as you take when he wants to give, and press closer when he retreats. You pull back, then press your covered chest towards his head again. Instantly, his mouth is against your clothed breasts, placing kisses upon the soft cotton, biting the cloth that covers you, soaking it with his spit and grinding. But the tunic doesn’t give him enough leverage to rip, and he almost howls in his irritation. 

You manage to collect yourself long enough to look down at him and say “Tell me again what I should be collecting?”

“Never mind that. Finish what you started,” he snarls, before switching to his trademark persuasive burr “I want to feel your mouth, pet.”

Shaking your head, you merely inch closer to your goal, vacillating between the lightest touches and a firm press of your hand against him. Palming him through his pants, you take on an air of disinterest. Crowley is grinding himself against your hand as best he can, considering his bonds. You let him feel the cup of your hand, his own knee pressed against you, your pants damp against his own. Both of you become more frantic, small huffs and moans filling the space between you. 

Looking down into his face, noting the half-lidded eyes, lips pink and full in his desire, you want nothing more than to do anything he would ask, and a few things he may not. But your irritation wins, and moving your hand just so, you finally give him the pressure he needs. Leaning into him, pressing yourself against his body, the cold and unwieldy chains between you as he licks at your throat. Crowley thrusts against your hand again and again, growling his frustration and relief against your flushed skin. He stiffens, tensing in the chair and groaning his release into your neck. 

You brace yourself against the chair as you withdraw your hand, wiping it against the hard grain of the chair. Watching him return to his senses, the glassy-eyed lust leaving his face, his clothes a rumpled mess, and his own come a wet spot on the front of his pants.

Thinking this might have not been a totally wasted trip, you walk towards the bag and coat you dropped earlier.

“Where are you going?” Crowley shouts in dismay. “We’re not finished!”

“Funny,” you reply. “There’s evidence to the contrary.” And finally your own sense of anger and helplessness win out. “You have minions for these things! Use them! I can’t be your respected magical community contact and your escort and delivery girl at the same time.”

You could swear Crowley slumps in the chair for a moment, just the briefest hint of an emotion before his dander is up again. 

“Go then. Soon enough you won’t be needed. And certainly not wanted. I’m the King of that Pit you like to manipulate so well, and it’s by my leave you do it. Now do as your told, and remember your place in all of this,” Crowley hissed in a warning.

Putting on your coat and slinging your bag over your shoulder, you walk back over to his chair. Gripping his chin in your hand, you look down, eyes revealing far more than you’d like to, in this little game you two have shared for so long. Placing a searing kiss on his lips, you whisper against them, 

“As you wish.”


End file.
